


Dolls

by sensitivebore



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivebore/pseuds/sensitivebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson, Hughes, Mary, and dolls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dolls

There's a tentative knock at her door and Elsie glances up from her novel, puts down her teacup. It's not Carson; they dispensed with actual knocking years ago. One of the maids, probably, wanting tea and sympathy.

"Yes?"

The door pushes open and Mary steps in, looking quite out of place, quite lost. Elsie closes her book immediately, stands, smooths her dress. What did the infernal girl want at this time of night? For heaven's sake. And why isn't she at Carson's door? She's his favorite, after all, his dote and apple of his eye.

"Milady, is there something I can assist with?"

She forms an automatic smile, stares over Mary's shoulder at the wallpaper. It's what she does with all of them, really. Turns into their faithful automaton. It's why they don't really irritate her anymore, don't really bother her with their spoiled nonsense. Nothing bothers a machine.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hughes — it's just that I'd like to get into the attic and I need the key — I wouldn't have asked at this time of evening but I remembered how Carson says you're a bit of a night owl, so I thought — " She trails off, smiles.

The attic key? What on earth can the girl want from the attic at this hour of night? And no, she can't have the key. Mary's taken leave of her senses if she thinks she'll just hand over a key to any part of this house to be lost or mislaid or go missing. Elsie presses her lips together hard. It's the last thing she wants to do, to go and stand and wait endlessly while this foolish child rummages about, but it's her job, so she smiles another meaningless curve of lip.

"No matter, milady. I'll unlock the attic for you and lock it behind you when you're through."

Mary wrings her hands a bit, looks distressed. "No, no, I didn't mean for you to come and wait on me, I can bring the key back immediately — it's just I wanted to find some of my old toys for Sybil, you see."

She makes a little gesture for Mary to leave the room, follows her out, sweeps along the corridor until they reach the door at the bottom of the attic stairs. She's unlocking it when Carson approaches from the direction of his own pantry, when he joins them, questioning and curious. Mary's relief at his presence is palpable.

"Oh, Carson, I was just going to find some of my old dolls for Sybil. I'm sure they're still in perfect order and Mama never gets rid of a thing; I wanted to get them before I forgot again. Mrs. Hughes is being kind enough to indulge me and unlock the attic."

Carson smiles at Mary, rumbles something about helping her and it's taking all of Elsie's will to not be snappish, irritated with the both of them. This could have very well waited until another day, but no, Lady Mary has to have what she wants when she wants it. She opens the door and forces her features into a pleasant disinterest.

"Here you are, milady."

Carson takes the key from her hand and waves her off. "I can lock up when we're through, Mrs. Hughes; you don't have to stand and wait." Without a second glance, he follows Mary up the stairs and leaves Elsie standing there, furious, enraged. He dismissed her as if she were his underling, and not only that, he had the bare-faced nerve to take one of her keys out of her hand. She closes her eyes, exhales. It's all she can do to not storm up those stairs behind them and lay into that man, but it would hardly be appropriate at the given moment. It'll keep until he returns the key. She can hear the faint murmur of their voices, boxes being shifted around.

Elsie leans a bit closer, listens unashamedly. It is, after all, her dominion and if they don't want to be overheard, they should use lower voices.

"You've made her angry." Mary's voice is resigned, chiding.

"I haven't, why would she be?"

"Because you — nothing, nothing, you'll just tell me I'm seeing something where nothing exists."

Elsie rolls her eyes. The girl has eyes in her head, at least. That's more than she can say for Carson. A few moments of silence, a mumbled curse as a shin hits a box, a cry of triumph as one of the sought-after dolls is found.

"You're always making her angry, you know."

His answer is outraged, puffed up. "I do not. If you're implying, milady, that Mrs. Hughes and I don't get on, you're very much mistaken. We get on very well, actually."

The smirk in Mary's voice is clear, prominent. "I'm not suggesting that, I'm suggesting the opposite."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?"

Elsie puts a hand over her mouth, suppresses a laugh. Listens.

"Not a bit."

More boxes are opened, shuffled, tossed aside.

"I don't know why you don't just ask her and make it official. You're more or less married to one another, for heaven's sake."

A delicate sneeze. Another.

"More, I'd say, from the way you squabble."

Carson is affronted, put out. "And what do you mean by that, precisely?"

"Oh, I hear things, Carson. I hear things."

A long silence, and she knows he has given Mary his handkerchief, she's wiping dust from her nose.

"I think you still have an active imagination, milady."

Quietly, he finishes his thought.

"I will when I can. When I've something to offer her."

"Well, don't wait too long. Here! Here's the rest, oh, smashing. They're all perfect."

Elsie hears the unmistakable sounds of things being gathered, boxes being closed, and she silently and swiftly withdraws to her office. Her cheeks are burning and her eyes are bright and he's a stupid, foolish man; he's thoughtless and silly and ridiculous and pompous.

He brings the key by a few minutes later and she looks up again from her novel — she'll never get through it at this pace — with a smile. Thanks him for the safe return of the key, asks casually if Mary found everything she went in search for, makes light conversation. After a few minutes, he tells her goodnight, turns to go.

"Oh, and Mr. Carson? You've plenty to offer. Just — think about that."

She goes back to her book, hears the door click gently shut behind him. Can feel his smile, and it warms her.


End file.
